


At what point have we crossed the line?

by Werif_esteria



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Book 3: King's Cage, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 18:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werif_esteria/pseuds/Werif_esteria
Summary: Something changes, but really nothing does.





	At what point have we crossed the line?

**Author's Note:**

> That bathtub scene consumed my every waking thought for a time, so I decided to take it in a very different direction. Comments/critique welcome!
> 
> WARNING: Mare is in a bad place while being held captive. She starts to think of suicide as a way way out, but finds a way to keep living and fighting.

“Hurry up.”

Mare didn’t know why Evangeline was currently dragging her towards Maven’s chambers, but she knew she wouldn’t like it when she found out. The other girl made no more attempts at communication as they sped through the shining palace halls, only pausing momentarily to yank her up by the arm when Mare stumbled.

Her legs were sluggish. The whole of her body ached, really, and the Silent Stone chipped away at her strength more and more each day. Though the weight of the manacles couldn’t have changed, Mare would swear that it was somehow increasing with time. Or maybe it was just her body giving up, beginning to shut down. After all, what use was there in living when she was trapped, without her lightning, doing nothing except further damaging the reputation’s rebellion each time Maven paraded her around on television? She was a hindrance to those who fought for freedom, a prize and a plaything to the boy king, who seemed determined to keep her imprisoned and yet at a distance.

And so Mare had made plans. Countless plans, from cramming her meals down her throat until she choked to pouring soap over her cell’s shower floor until it was too slick not to slip on. She had yet to act on any, telling herself she’d wait just one more day in case Cal or Farley managed to get a message through to her. But with each passing week, with each fading ounce of strength, Mare grew more certain that it was time to take matters into her own hands.

She flinched as Evangeline jerked her to a stop in front of Maven’s door, then bit back a gasp as they barged right into his chambers. Mare fought the urge to struggle as the pale-haired girl drew her towards a door to the side of Maven’s bed, instead breathing deep and squaring her shoulders as much as her aching body would allow.

Whatever horrors Maven planned to subject her to today, she would face them with what little dignity she still possessed. And then, she promised herself, when she was finally alone later that night, she would take from him his precious war prize.

Evangeline nudged Mare towards the door and looked at her expectantly. Mare glared weakly back. “I didn’t realize you were running Maven’s errands for him now.” It was a flimsy jab, but all Mare had left in her.

“He didn’t send me,” Evangeline looked away from her as she spoke. “I…want you to talk to him.” Mare’s glare melted to surprise, and she felt anger bubbling deep in her stomach, nearly overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling of slow suffocation, but still there.

“What could you possibly think I have to say to him?” she demanded. She was so tired of this, of the endless games Silvers played—with each other, with the lives of Reds. It had to end, at least for her. She couldn’t survive like this anymore.

Evangeline merely shoved her towards the mysterious door again—was Maven brooding in his closet?—and muttered, “Just talk to him,” before turning and stalking out of the room.

The quiet, dead air felt stifling as Mare looked around Maven’s bedroom, wondering how long it had been since she was last left alone outside of her cell. It wasn’t as though she had any more freedom now, though, with Maven on the other side of the door and Evangeline probably hovering in the corridor outside. She contemplated staying here, in this liminal moment, until someone forced her to action.

But it was better to get this new ordeal over and done with, she decided. Mare grasped the doorknob, struck by how the effort of moving her arm taxed her, and pushed the door open. She stepped into a room larger than her cell, and bit back a yelp at what lay before her.

Instead of a dark and gloomy space, this room was covered in gleaming tile, a long wall of windows allowing sunlight to stream inside and light up the room. In the center of the floor sat a massive marble tub, and in that tub sprawled Maven.

Eyes closed, head tipped back, he looked younger than he was, and decidedly less evil. A wave of longing for the boy she thought he’d been rushed through Mare, only to halt abruptly when he spoke without looking at her.

“Evangeline brought you here, didn’t she?” It was hardly a question. “She’ll really make a wonderful wife, given how good she is at reading people.” When Mare said nothing, merely taking a step towards the tub, he opened his eyes and fixed them blearily on her face. It was all she could do not to flinch under his hungry gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, closing them again. And this caused Mare to find her voice.

“I’m not beautiful, Maven,” she said. “I’m dying.” The words slipped out with surprising ease as Mare came to a halt next to the tub. She thought she’d accepted it, but speaking it aloud made it seem more real. More final.

And it was the truth. The only future she had to look forward to. The only question was, could she manage to take Maven down before she was no more? He looked so pale and fragile in the bathtub. If she only had more energy, Mare would wrap her hands around his smooth throat right now as he tipped his head back, seeming as though he hadn’t a care in the world. She wished she knew more. Evangeline obviously thought something was wrong with him if she deemed it necessary to interfere and bring Mare to see him. Was he sick? Behaving so erratically that even his court had begun to notice? Mare cursed herself for not doing a better job eavesdropping during her appearances.

“Never,” Maven whispered, his eyes flying open. “I would never let you leave me like that.” The boy was oblivious, then, because she’d been weakening horribly over the last few weeks. It grated on her to have her vulnerability so openly displayed, but she had no choice when she found herself gasping for air after walking across her cell too quickly.

He must have read something in her eyes, because he smiled sadly. “I know you’re trying to get away from me. I can see it in the way you move, like you’re letting yourself be crushed. I hate it.”

She looked at him incredulously. “This is what’s crushing me”—she shook the manacles on her wrists—“so don’t sit there in your bath and pretend to be grieving over what you’re doing to me. You are the one killing me.” Maven shifted in the tub at this, eyes clearing a little and roving over her entire body. Mare preferred them closed.

“Again, you seem to misunderstand,” he said. “I don’t plan on watching you die.”

“Then how do you plan to keep me alive? By tying me to a chair? Forcing food into my mouth?” she felt her voice rising, and did nothing to quell it. Maven was fooling himself if he thought even those measures could halt the havoc the Silent Stone was wreaking on her body and mind.

“Those are things I could do, yes,” he said, seemingly lost in thought. Probably picturing her tied up, even more at his mercy than she was now. Her fingers itched to hurt him, with or without lightning.

“But I don’t want to have to do those things,” he said.

“Then you’ll have to put Evangeline on feeding duty, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty.” Mare didn’t know why she was trying to bait him. She didn’t know why she was still here. She didn’t know how she’d come to stand so close to the edge of the tub. So she started to back away.

Maven’s fingers shot out and grabbed her wrist, just above the manacle. She pulled back instinctively, enraged at the feel of his hands on her body. His fingers twitched where they brushed against the Silent Stone but refused to relinquish their hold.

He was pressed against the side of the tub now, with her wrist held close to his chest. “How can you mean so much to me, when we are so at odds?” he looked up into her face.

That was an understatement. He’d killed people she loved, and people she hadn’t even known, all for his supposed “love” of her. She hated it, hated what he’d done, hated him. And yet—

The way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing keeping him alive, didn’t feel like a lie. It was impossible to know which of Maven’s actions were a direct result of Elara’s mind games, or his twisted feelings for her, or the boy himself. He must be lonely, living like that. Mare tried to force her heart to harden again. No matter his reasons, Maven had committed unforgiveable atrocities. He was confused, yes, but too far gone to have any hope of salvation. He was lost to her and Cal forever. She’d known that the instant the old King’s head hit the floor.

And yet.

“I thought you were my friend,” Mare whispered. To her shame, she felt the hot prickle of tears behind her eyes. His grip on her loosened, but she didn’t snatch her hand back. She wanted to sob. He was playing her again, and she was walking right into his trap, offering her heart up like she always did. He was an unexplainable weakness, a boy that never really existed. She wished she could sink into the earth under the weight of all that Silent Stone.

Maven’s breath caught at the emotions playing so obviously across her normally stoic face. Her eyes screwed shut to avoid his searing gaze, Mare felt his fingers begin to caress her wrist, drawing her nearer. They tapped against her manacle almost absentmindedly.

“I don’t want you to suffer like this,” Maven said, his voice tinged with an odd kind of desperation.

Mare sighed, murmuring, “Then let me go,” though she knew she asked the impossible. She steeled herself to draw her hand back, but gasped when she felt a sudden weight lifted from her wrist instead.

Maven had unlocked the manacle on the wrist he held, and now looked at the fetter with distaste before dropping it to the floor beside the tub. It hit the tile with a heavy thunk, sounding as though it weighed far more than it really did.

Mare cradled her arm to her chest, marveling at the lightness that filled her. It was as though she could breathe again. Not nearly at full capacity, but enough to feel as though she could continue to exist without needing to gasp for air. A wealth of emotions filled Maven’s face when she looked down at him. Curiosity, wonder, hope. Want.

His fingers reached for her again, but she stepped back, gaze shuttering. Of course he’d want something in exchange for allowing her to barely keep breathing. Thoughts racing, she wondered if she could make it out the door and back to her cell in time to barricade herself inside, snatching a few more precious moments of partial freedom before the guards held her down and replaced the cuff. Or maybe Maven would put it back on himself, sneering at the ease with which he could weaken her.

Maven noticed her shift her body towards the door, still ajar, and casually raised his own arm out of the tub. A firestarter circled his wrist, waxy sheen suggesting that the innovators had finally created a waterproof version of the device. Mare didn’t bother to hold in her curse, which made the boy grin. Leave it to Maven to prepare for every possible turn of events. She halted her progress towards the door, leaving her gazed fixed on the small crack that led to freedom, or at least an escape from this bathroom.

“Please, Mare,” he held out his hand to her again. He had no right to sound that desperate, that hopeful. She was the one trapped in a glittering nightmare palace, shackled, being threatened further still with flames and the return of the manacle, or—what, exactly?

Mare looked at her captor’s outstretched hand. “What is it that you want?”

“The manacle stays off,” Maven said, and Mare’s heart lifted cautiously, “so long as you’re alone with me.” Mare felt her heart sink, and the beginnings of rage boiled back up. How dare he demand this of her, after setting in motion plans that killed her brother, deceiving her, doing everything he could to force her back to him? She bit back a scathing reply, struggling to tamp down her emotions. There was opportunity here, if only she could figure out how to take advantage of it. She needed to be careful with her answer, because suddenly, a purposeful fall in the shower didn’t seem so appealing. Not when there was hope for escape—however small.

“You’re playing with lightning, Maven,” she said. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He nodded, still waiting with hand extended. Mare looked at him hard, trying to figure out how best to play this new game. If he would actually allow her close, even going so far as to remove the manacles more than once, maybe her body would adapt. Maybe her powers would begin to return sooner.

Maybe she could kill him.

But at what cost? Who knew how long it would take for her lightening to start trickling back into her. She’d have to hide the acceleration from Maven until her powers were able to rush back as soon as the manacles were removed. Assuming her body was even capable of adapting like that. Assuming she could convince him to remove all of the shackles.

It was a foolish hope, and a dangerous game. The firestarter latched securely around Maven’s wrist would be the least of her problems if he suspected she was trying to do anything more than find temporary relief from the Silent Stone. But what did she have to lose? Her life? Lost the second she surrendered to him to save her friends.

Mare took Maven’s hand, and allowed him to draw her towards the tub.


End file.
